


Nice Shooting

by Kenjiandco



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Age Difference, Aged-Up Character(s), Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Hot Tub Sex, Lance is 22 let's all just take a deep breath, M/M, blowjob, ill-advised attempts at underwater blowjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2019-02-07 00:54:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12829842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kenjiandco/pseuds/Kenjiandco
Summary: After crashlanding his Lion on a remote desert planet, Lance finds himself in the care of a kindhearted castaway with violet eyes and a Southern accent, and a vaguely familiar hairstyle, with not much to do but wait for rescue and get to know his companion a little better.(Yes, Lance x Keith's dad, a long-delayed commission and rather late birthday present for the inestimable Lemonorangelime. Thoroughly adult Lance enthusiastically consenting to all sexy shenanigans.)





	Nice Shooting

Lance isn’t sure how long it’s been since he landed – and he’s  _ sticking  _ to ‘landed’ goddammit, even if said landing resulted in a dust cloud that briefly blocked two out of three suns and he’s still tripping over the occasional bit of lion shrapnel. He’s stopped to sleep once, crawling under an outcropping of weird purplish rock for a few hours when all three suns were dead overhead and it felt like the air itself was trying to strangle him. It got dark a few hours after that, when two suns set and the third dipped below the horizon and skirted along the edge of the dark for a while, casting a corona of orange light up into the massive field of stars overhead. There’s a mountain in the distance, a lone narrow crag jutting up against the burnt-brown sky, and Lance uses it as his landmark as he keeps walking, checking the smashed chronograph on his wrist out of habit every now and then. The one that, right before he lost control of his lion and everything went totally to shit even more, was pulsing green and blue – a hailing beacon. Lifesigns detected.

He remembers hearing – back in some kind of wilderness survival inservice at the Garrison, a couple dozen galaxies ago – he remembers hearing that children lost in the wilderness are more likely to survive than adults. Way,  _ way,  _ more likely. And it’s not some resilience of youth thing, either. It’s cause kids don’t think. It’s cause a lost kid will just find a sheltered spot to burrow down and wait for rescue.

But adults don’t tend to do that. Because an adult’s survival instincts will convince them that they’re not, on a fundamental level, a helpless fucking idiot. An adult will try to  _ do  _ something, try to save themselves, convince themselves that if they follow the river or keep the sun overhead or walk towards the mountain on the horizon, if they just keep going, keep trying, keep  _ doing,  _ they’ll somehow get themselves out.

Lance remembers something else about that survival course, as he folds up another empty water pouch and stuffs it into his ever-lighter pack.

He remembers that he failed the shit out of it.

The suns set once more (but it’s the smaller, bluer one that rides the horizon line this time, and it makes the desert glow with a weird white light that hurts his eyes and makes his vision swim, or maybe that’s just the dehydration) before he collapses the first time. Doesn’t remember falling, just remembers opening his eyes with his mouth full of dust that burns on his tongue like he’s trying to hold a mouthful of soda while Hunk reads horrible jokes off some old website and he and Pidge try desperately not to laugh but the Coke going up his nose makes everything five times funnier and then he remembers where he is in time to kick away the little lizard-thing on his leg that was about to declare him carrion. There’s a shimmering pool on the horizon that he’s spent hours trying to tell himself is a mirage, but it turns out to be even crueler: it’s a tiny lake, crystal clear and vibrant in the sun and putting out acid fumes that scorch the inside of his nose from a hundred yards away while his body clamors for water.

The second time he collapses, he’s pretty sure he’s not getting back up again. It’s kind of a relief to let go, to decide no actually, he  _ doesn’t  _ need to get up and walk again.

There’s something moving in the rocks – little soft scurrying shapes that bounce between the crags and in and out of crevices. He follows their movements with dull, crusted eyes, more and more as another long day cycle ends and the light of the suns dims.

They look a bit like…no, they look almost  _ exactly  _ like penises.

Little scurrying penises. Hopping and dancing and skittering around on their little round balls. A few of them pause to regard him solemnly, blinking little oil-drop eyes in under their little fleshy helmets, until  he tries to lift his head and they scatter back into the rocks, trailing a series of high pitched noises like  _ wheeeeee. _

He must have skipped the lecture that covered little dancing penises in survival situations.

He remembers something else about that survival course, too.

Keith got the top score.

Well. When they find him, Keith can give his corpse one hell of an I told you so.

He hopes Red bites him.

If there’s enough of Red left at the crash site to put it back together.

If he’s gonna die he might as well admit he crashed.

He was really curious about that hailing message though. The Altean system translated it so fast…’cause it was a language the system knew pretty well, at this point.

It was in English.

_ Don’t tread on me. _

Oh well. Whoever set  _ that  _ as their SOS was probably an asshole anyway.

After that, he learns that the first thing you do after you die is cough up a lung. Or at least a bunch of sludgy gray dust and a really unfortunate amount of drool. And there’s something cool against his lips and a hand on the back of his neck, and a voice…

“Easy,  _ easy  _ kid, it’s okay, take a deep breath, c’mon.”

It’s soft and gentle and a little hoarse, close to his ear. The canteen against his lips tilts up again, and this time Lance manages to get a mouthful of water down without choking. His skin tingles all over, just shy of burning…feels kind of like the drumming of the needles on that tattoo he half-remembers getting his first week at the Garrison. Except. Everywhere. All at once.

“There ya go, that’s it.” The hand on his neck dips away, and then there’s a wet cloth running over his face, taking some of the sting away with it. “Don’t try to open your eyes yet, alright? This alkali dust is a son of a bitch if it gets in there.”

He needn’t have bothered with the warning, since Lance’s eyes feel sealed the heck shut and he hasn’t summoned up the brain cells to do anything more advanced than swallow. He’s vaguely aware of being lifted, easy as a kitten, cheek pressing against something warm and soft that smells like leather.

“Christ, how long have you been out here? You’re not even sweating anymore. Good thing it’s a short ride...” There’s an unpleasant sensation of being hoisted up and over something, and it makes Lance’s already-churning stomach lurch dangerously.

“Hey, don’ you go losing that water, kid.” He’s set astride something big and warm and animal (that smells powerfully of…seaweed?) and his rescuer climbs up behind him. A hard-muscled arm wraps around his waist. “Hang in there, alright?” There’s a breath, a soft laugh that ruffles the hair above his ears.

“You’re either the luckiest or the unluckiest son of a bitch in this galaxy, kid…but I couldn’t tell ya which one…”

He becomes, eventually, more or less conscious again, but still too tired to appropriately panic when he opens his eyes and everything stays dark. There’s something on his face, warm and wet and pressing down on his eyelids—

“Hey, hey there, easy kid.” Someone catches his weakly flailing hand, calloused fingers warm and rough against his skin and waking fuzzy memories of being carried. “Welcome back.”

An arm slips gently behind his back, helping him sit up, and the damp wash cloth slips off his stinging eyes.

Lance stares, vision swimming and eyes burning, at the blurry blob in front of him. Red jacket, violet eyes, and  _ I’d know that mullet anywhere… _

“K-keith?”

His vision clears a little more, and the face resolves; the skin darker, eyes framed with laugh lines, hair longer and a little ragged and shot through with a few streaks of silver.

“Mostly folks call me Sunny,” Lance’s rescuer says. His voice is soft and light and…faintly southern. “And who’re you, mysterious meteor kid?”

“Meteorite,” Lance says. He’s still catching up with reality, but some things are important.

“What now?”

“Meteor _ ite  _ kid.” Lance’s hind brain notes he’s lying on a saggy couch. Dusty. Stains obvious in the bright triple sunlight. Crate for an end table. Water bottle on crate. Which he grabs. “ _ Meteors  _ are the streaks of light visible from the surface caused by debris burning up in the atmosphere. If the stuff strikes the surface they’re meteorites.” He clumsily uncaps the bottle and starts chugging. “Ima meteorite.”

Sunny laughs softly. Kneeling beside the couch, his violet eyes are on a level with Lance’s. Huh. Tall. Tall dark and handsome.

“If you’d missed, would you be a meteorwrong?”

Tall dark handsome  _ nerd. _

Lance sits up and looks around, joints aching, still pounding down his water. His skin pulls oddly, dry and tight like that time he borrowed Keith’s moisture sucking ten-cents-a-bar soap.

Metal walls, curved overhead and studded with rivets. Patchwork hammock strung between two joists, and what he’d thought was a couch is actually a bench seat, with ragged ends where safety harnesses had been cut away. A shuttle. The bay of an old cargo shuttle, converted into a little dusty cabin on the surface of this little dusty planet.

“You’re a pilot,” Lance says, staring at the double paned windows. Sunny smirks, fleeting and humorless.

“I  _ was.  _ Haven’t flown anywhere in a hot second, if ya couldn’t tell.” He tugs the empty bottle from Lance’s limp fingers and replaces it with a full one. ”What’s your name, Mr. Mysterious Meteorite?”

“Oh. Right. It’s Lance.” He fumbles the bottle open, his fingers clumsy and tingling like they’ve been asleep. “I think I like Mr. Mysterious Meteorite better though.”

Sunny’s laugh tingles too, in a rush of warmth under his stinging skin. 

“What happened?” he asks, plopping down beside Lance on the flight-bench couch. “Alkali cloud get you too?”’

_ What happened…oh right. Lion. Crash.  _ “Dust cloud?”

Sunny nods at the window, coated in reddish dust. “Near as I can tell, the whole surface of this planet is covered in it. Finer ‘n powdered sugar and corrosive as all hell.” He sighs, tracing his fingers lovingly down the wall of his shuttle. “Destroys engines faster than a bullet.”

“So that was your distress signal,” Lance says with a wet swallow. Sunny winces.

“Yyyeah…about that…I coulda sworn I set that thing at a frequency that’d ping deep space trawlers, military and the like. Big enough to power through the dust cloud, or just drop a tractor beam on me. You must have one hell of a communications rig on that little thing you were flying.”

“My girl’s not what you’d call standard issue,” Lance says proudly. Then he remembers the size of the crater he left his lion in, and deflates like a punctured balloon. “Can you uh…add anything to it? My friends are gonna be looking for me soon. Something about uh. ‘Engine death dust don’t bring the lions…”

“Don’t bring the  _ lions?” _

_ “ _ Lions,” Lance echoes. With two bottles of cold water sloshing around his empty stomach, he’s starting to feel fuzzy and sleepy again. “Don’t bring the lions.” He scratches at his arm, and stares blankly as the top few layers of skin flake off like French pastry. “Don’ bring lions. Bring my lotion.”

He curls up in a ball to hide his eyes from the triple sunlight, and drifts back to sleep with Sunny’s gentle laugh in his ears. 

Lance learns a lot over the next few days.

He learns this little planetoid is too tiny and remote to even have a  _ designation,  _ forget about a name. Too little and remote and insignificant to even merit the salad of numbers that means someone with letters after their name once registered its existence as a dot in a telescope. He learns that the combination of triple sunburn and mild chemical burns from the alkali dust leads to waking up feeling like there’s more skin in your blanket than there is still attached to your body.

He learns that the native species survive the toxic dust by means of a thick layer of slime covering their entire bodies, and that they look remarkably like those big green sea horses that hide in the kelp forests, the one’s he’s seen in nature documentaries and a few aquariums. Only terrestrial. And big enough to ride. Sunny befriended one, a big calm creature he dubbed Kim, who seems content to let humans ride her in exchange for filtered water and occasional bits of protein bar.  Once you get past the slime, even the wild ones are quite curious, friendly and even kind of cuddly.

They’re also pretty good in a stew.

He learns that Sunny’s been here about two months, in Human time. Long haul cargo pilot making an unauthorized deviation, tried to land for some maintenance and wound up crippled by the dust cloud with no communications but his weak emergency relay, and no one in the galaxy who knew where he was. He learns that Sunny’s real name is Sun Hee Kang, the army brat son of a Korean nurse and a Texan air force pilot. He learns Sunny’s 36, not married, never been married, although he has a kid out there somewhere, who he hasn’t seen in a long time.

He learns that Sunny’s a good hunter and a better cook. That he tells great stories, from his time in the Garrison flight school and a few decades trucking back and forth across the solar system hauling loads of minerals and Uranian gas and Martian ice from station to station. That he’s got a fondness for tequila,  _ no  _ poker face to speak of, smiles often and laughs easily, always that soft, gentle chuckle that makes his eyes soften and crinkle at the corners.

He learns that Sunny’s smile has a tendency to turn sad when he thinks no one can see him. He learns that Sunny is very kind, and very lonely, and he hasn’t been touched in a very long time.

Lance also learns that there’s a mineral hotspring not far from Sunny’s little homestead in the bones of his ship, and that the bubbling water feels like heaven on his raw skin.  He luxuriates happily in the thick steam, warm and tingling and smelling faintly of rotten eggs, and watches the penises play amongst the rocks. (Sunny calls the fleshy little creatures dancing mushrooms, and blushed for hours when Lance asked him about the little dicks with eyes running around outside.) His home-made face mask (one part giant-land-seahorse slime to two parts clay dredged up from the bottom of the springs, version 3.1 – slightly more slime and a lower water content) is drying nicely, without the cracking that plagued his early formulas, full of moisture soaking in to his dermal cells. He sighs happily, leaning back against the mineral-encrusted rocks and nibbling on a protein bar from he retrieved from Red’s emergency stash.

All in all, he reflects, life really could be worse. He could sort of imagine setting up a life here…start farming the land-seahorses for their slime, sell it to Lush for a million dollars an ounce and retire fabulously wealthy to spend his days—

“Is that my shirt?”

Lance jolts out of his reverie with a splash, nearly dropping his protein bar in the process. He hunches up guiltily inside the cotton shirt clinging to his wet skin, which does indeed hang pretty loose on his frame.

“M-makes the minerals sting less,” he mumbles, pulling it around his shoulders and aware it probably makes him look like a guilty puppy.

“I didn’t say I minded,” Sunny chuckles softly, stepping down into the bubbling pool. And it’s perfectly natural for Lance’s gaze to trace down the length of his body as he does, bare chest and long legs and a pair of shorts low on his narrow hips. Perfectly natural for his eyes to…linger in a few places, toes curling in the soft sand at the base of the pool as Sunny settles onto a rock beside him. He tilts his head to the side, eyes soft in the low sunset light of the planet’s smallest sun. “You look better, Lance.” His eyes crinkle at the corners. “At least, I assume. Under the mud.”

Lance immediately blushes scarlet (under the mud) and ducks his head under the water, hastily scrubbing off his home-made mask. He surfaces to Sunny’s laughter, and his wet bangs hanging over his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah,” Lance grumbles, shoving his bangs back out of his eyes. He’s been here long enough that they’re growing out, longer and scruffier by the day. “Only the uncultured look down on proper skincare.”

A gentle fingertip brushes down his cheek, freezing Lance solid mid-grumble.

“Huh.” Sunny considers, rubbing his thumb against his fingertip. “You might be onto something there, Mr. Meteorite. It took me a month to stop peelin’ after I got caught in a dust storm, and you’re all silky smooth.”

“Building up a coating is the key, you have to protect the new skin before it can get damaged by exposure…” Lance hears himself say, cringing internally as his brain runs away on autopilot, rabbiting on about skincare while the ghost of Sunny’s fleeting touch bursts in tiny sparklers in his bloodstream. “See, your skin is fine, all you need is a good deep conditioner to rehydrate, like a mask or a night cream to smooth out this—”  _ oh God oh  _ God  _ what am I doing I’m about to reach out and freakin’  _ touch  _ him just like… _

Just like…

Just like all he had to do was brush his fingertips across Sunny’s forehead, across the faint fine wrinkles of lots of life lived in a lot of sunlight (and maybe not enough soap.) Just like the feel of his fingers makes Sunny stiffen, just for a second, before his shoulders relax and his long lashes dip low over his eyes. He tips his head to the side, leaning into Lance’s hand ever so slightly, just like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And it’s the most natural thing in the world for Lance to slip his hand up, card his fingers into Sunny’s shaggy forelock and press it back from his face, fingers trailing through beads of sweat on his warm skin. Sunny shivers, a soft little hum caught deep in the back of his throat. Just like he’s a kind-hearted man who’s been alone for far too long.

They’ve shifted position without realizing it: a blink, a breath, and Lance realizes he’s leaning into Sunny, and what’s more Sunny’s leaning back into him, their faces just a few inches apart and his hand tangled in Sunny’s hair…all the gentle sparkles under his skin, all that tingly warmth that runs through him every time sunny laughs, or smiles, or looks at him with those fond little crinkles in the corner of his eyes, coalescing in his blood and settling hot in his belly as Sunny tilts his head just enough to nuzzle gently against his palm.

Lance’s breath is coming faster in the steamy air, all the heat of his slow-growing crush bubbling to the surface, firing his blood in his veins.

_ I could kiss him, right now, I could just lean in and – _

And he’s spent too much of his life hesitating, too much of it held back by that little nagging voice behind his eyes,  _ you’re not good enough, you’ll never be good enough,  _ and maybe, just maybe, it’s time to shut his eyes and jump off the cliff.

Sunny’s lips are soft, all cracked skin and heat and he gasps at the press of their lips together, but he doesn’t pull away. Lance’s fingers are shaking with nerves, tightening in the curls of Sunny’s hair maybe hard enough to pull, but if it hurts he doesn’t seem to mind. Lance’s other hand finds his shoulder, slick with sweat and steam, uses it as leverage to swing a leg over and slide into Sunny’s lap, making the hot water slosh around them, licking over his chest as he leans in to kiss him deeper.

Sunny makes another strangled little noise, almost a groan, deep down in his throat. Lance would swear it’s desire, but a second later Sunny’s palm presses against his chest, gently pushing him away.

“Wait…”

Lance sits back on his heels obediently, giving him a chance to breathe, still straddling Sunny’s lap. Sunny’s chest is heaving, eyes hot, and his hand stays curled over Lance’s shoulder, fingers pressing into his skin. “Are you…are you sure?”

Lance is sure. He’s really,  _ really  _ sure. The second of heart-pounding nervousness is gone: he’s confident now. He wants this. He’s pretty damn sure Sunny wants this, but Sunny’s hesitating and Lance isn’t going to push, not yet, even though his body is begging for more. He just leans in close, gently nuzzling his nose against Sunny, feeling him shiver at the contact.

“Have I mentioned how damn  _ hot  _ you are?”

Sunny huffs through his nose, not quite a laugh and not quite a sigh. “This can’t really be what you want.” He keeps his head down, avoiding Lance’s eyes, and shifts under Lance’s weight.

Lance shifts back, giving him a little more space. Raising up on his knees like this forces Sunny to look up at him, tilt his head back to meet his eyes and  _ Gods  _ is it a good look on him. “Lance, you’re young enough to be my son.”

Lance opens his mouth, pauses for some quick mental math. “Uh…yes?”

Sunny shakes his head, his jagged bangs falling in his eyes and sticking to the sweat beading his forehead. “You’re still high on the survival rush.”

Lance cocks his head to the side for a second, then shrugs. “Probably also yes.”

Sunny’s hands reach out, hover awkwardly over Lance’s body, halfway between pushing him off and pulling him closer and afraid to touch him anywhere. Lance catches his hands and brings them to his hips under the water, and when he lets him go Sunny doesn’t pull away.

“If you’re not interested, all you gotta do is tell me no,” he murmurs, leaning forward ‘til his wet bangs brush Sunny’s forehead. Sunny’s fingers tighten on his hips, breath tickling against Lance’s cheeks as a soft curse slips through his lips.

“ _ Fuck,”  _ he mumbles, turning his head, nudging closer, his lips pressed to Lance’s cheek, just shy of the corner of his mouth. Lance shivers, pulse jumping, and Sunny seems to relax a little, chuckling softly against his skin. “Gods, if you knew half the things I think when I look at you…” One gentle hand slides slowly up his back, dragging heat in its wake, long fingers tangle in his hair and then they’re kissing again.

Sunny kisses the same way he looks at Lance, soft and slow and full of affection, the hand in his hair all but cradling his head as Sunny pulls him close, hesitance draining away. He parts his lips, tongues sliding together warm and sweet and Lance can’t keep still anymore, drinks in the soft groan as he squirms in Sunny’s lap, pressing into his belly and grinding his hips down. He presses closer, nipping at Sunny’s lips, searching for more of those deep rough noises, more harder  _ closer— _

Sunny’s the one to break away again, although he doesn’t go far, leaning his forehead against Lance’s as they both suck in air. Lance’s head is spinning with excitement and relief and more than a little just plain  _ lust,  _ watching the way the lean muscles of Sunny’s chest heave as he gets his breath back. He nuzzles close, dotting idle kisses over Sunny’s cheekbones and his jaw and the length of his neck, lets his hands wander down his chest and traces the fine line of hair down his belly to the waistband of his low-slung shorts. They’ve been sharing tight quarters for almost a month now, he’s gotten a few glimpses of Sunny naked and they’ve been fueling fantasies he has every goddamned intention of living out to the fullest.

The noise Sunny makes when Lance reaches back to palm his dick through his clinging shorts is gonna echo in his dreams for months to come. It’s probably all the permission he needs, but he’s not one to assume, not in a situation like this. “Sunny…S-sunny, can I?”

Sunny curses again, tangles his fingers in Lance’s hair and drags him in for a messy kiss, teeth catching in his lips with a sting that sends bolts of heat through Lance’s entire body. He pulls back grinning, a spot of blood blooming on his lip, shoves himself back into the deeper part of the pool, Sunny’s borrowed shirt floating up around him. Sunny’s staring at him half lost, lips swollen and long hair clinging to his cheeks but still not quite wrecked enough for Lance’s tastes.

“D’you want…need me to…I can move—” Sunny stammers, shifting towards the lip of the pool.

“Nah.” Lance grins up at him. “Watch this.” He waggles his eyebrows, sucks in a breath, and ducks his head under the water.

Fumbling Sunny out of his shorts under water with his eyes stinging in the heat is, admittedly, a lot more clumsy and a lot less sexy than he’d envisioned, but it’s worth it for the way Sunny’s thighs flex when he wraps his lips around the head of his cock, worth it or the tremor in the hand that curls into his hair, floating under the water. Lance takes him as far in as he can manage before his lungs start to burn, surfaces for a quick breath and dives back down before Sunny’s had a chance to form words.

It’s been a good long time since he’s done this, five years or more since he unceremoniously left the Garrison at seventeen, but he gets back into the swing of it easy enough, burning lungs and swirling water and all. Remembering how to relax his throat, slide down slow and revel in that delicious stretch in his throat as he swallows and Sunny’s hips buck up against him. He curls his hands around Sunny’s hips, pressing him back, feeling his muscles strain instinctively against his grip as he swallows again and Sunny gasps his name loud enough for Lance to hear it through the water.

He's determined to keep going even when the ache sets in (not least because the tight hot burn in his chest is turning him on more than a little), determined to give Sunny all the pleasure he deserves and it feels like he’s damn close to doing it, Sunny writhing harder against the hands on his hips, his thighs squeezing tight against Lance’s shoulders—and then he’s being seized by the collar of his soaking shirt and hauled out of the water, yanked back into Sunny’s lap with a strength he wouldn’t have guessed Sunny had. Sunny crushes him against his chest, all that tentative gentleness swept away, kisses him hard and sloppy, his hands hot and sure and everywhere all at once and this time it’s Lance desperately gasping his name into their kisses.

“ _ Lance,”  _ Sunny mumbles against his lips, fingers clutching in Lance’s hair. “Can I—d’you… _ God,  _ let me fuck you—”

Lance smashes their lips together again, nodding frantically, lifting up on his knees to let Sunny strip him out of his shorts and letting out a garbled moan as Sunny’s long fingers palm appreciatively at his ass. His mind’s whirling, trying to plan, there’s any number of slippery water-based things in Blue’s first aid kit, but that’s so far  _ away  _ and Sunny’s right  _ here— _

And Sunny apparently has other plans, because he’s being lifted again, fast but gentle all the same. Hands press him down against the slick rocks and Sunny’s fingers trail heavy down his chest, nudging his legs apart, and Lance just about has time to register what’s happening before his tongue is right  _ there,  _ hot against his entrance, working over him in tight little circles that have him arching off the rocks. His fingers scrabble across slick stone, half in half out of the water, feels like he’s floating on the sensations as Sunny’s tongue begins to gradually work inside.

It’s cold outside the hot spring, dry dusty air making his skin pull and chill beyond the warm bubble of steam, while his legs sweat in the swirling water and the whole core of his body burns with Sunny’s touch. It’s so  _ much,  _ so many sensations all at once, Sunny’s not rough but he’s not gentle either, hands gripping his hips as a finger works in alongside his curling and Lance arches into the sharp sting as his body adjusts and the pain melts into cloying, pulsing pleasure.

“Sunny,  _ S-sunny,”  _ he’s babbling, words are hard to find but he’s climbing so fast, too fast, his body feels hot and loose and ready and Lance wants  _ more.  _ “C’mon, c’mon,  _ please,” I swear I was in control of this situation a minute ago. _

Sunny pulls back, fingers tight on Lance’s thighs, hair sticking up in all directions and his eyes hot and a little wild. He leans over Lance on his elbows, panting and predatory and sexy as all hell, strokes his fingers gently down his cheeks.  “Are you—I don’t have—”

“Clean,” Lance gasps, arching up to press kisses across his face, hot and lingering and wanting. “I promise.” The Castle med-pods scan for every pathogen imaginable, STD or otherwise, and it’s not like he’s had the time for dating since the Coalition government formed.

“Me too – if you’re okay with it…c-can I—”

“ _ Fuck me,  _ Sunny,” Lance gasps, reaching up to wind his arms around his neck, and that’s the end of being patient for both of them.

Sunny growls, one hand fisted in his hair and the other bruising-tight on his hip, leans in close, pressing Lance’s leg back against his chest as he presses slowly in. Lance shivers, swallows a groan and grins up at him and hooks his knee over Sunny’s shoulder. He curls his fingers around the back of his neck and draws him down, letting Sunny bend him more, drawing him in deeper. He waits, panting, ‘til Sunny’s eyes flutter open, wide and hot and melted with lust, waggles his eyebrows and straightens his leg, points his toes, blatantly showing off and the tight stretch in his hamstrings is  _ so  _ worth it for the way Sunny bucks into him with a half-swallowed curse.

He starts off slow, deliberate just grinding deep inside while they both adjust, foreheads pressed together and breath mingling. Sunny meets his eyes, holds them, slides his hand out of Lance’s hair and down his cheek, his neck, all the way down in a heated trail to curl around his hip. Lance shivers, arching into the touch and Sunny presses in  _ deeper,  _ spreading heat through his belly that makes his toes girl in the air, and then he starts to  _ move. _

It’s never felt like this before.

It’s not his first time, he’s twenty-one after all, and despite his bluster Lance did okay at the Garrison. There’s been a handful of pretty alien girls and boys and…uncategorized attractive creatures since then, plenty of fun to be had for a young soldier with a fancy robotic lion as his wingman. He’s not a virgin, he’s not a kid anymore, he knows what he’s doing.

It’s  _ never  _ been like this before.

Sunny moves like he knows what Lance is feeling before he feels it, his deep, steady thrusts lighting a fire Lance feels all the way in his toes. Lance arches off the rocks, clinging to him, and Sunny holds him up like he’s nothing, hands on his hips pulling him down into every heavy, grinding thrust. He’s breathing hard between his teeth, little half-swallowed grunts pressed against his sweet spot. Lance buries his face in the curve of Sunny’s neck, kissing whatever his lips find, biting down with every pulse of pleasure. He’s climbing now, climbing fast, gasping into Sunny’s skin, names and prayers and curses all tangled together on his tongue.

When it hits, it hits all in a rush, a snap of heat deep in his belly and all he can do is hold on. Sunny’s arm slips under his back, gentle and soothing, but he hasn’t stopped moving; Lance isn’t even sure he  _ can.  _ He’s whispering in his ear, soft soothing nothings as his fingers comb through Lance’s hair and the static begins to clear from his mind.

“Okay?” Sunny murmurs, and Lance responds by catching his mouth in a messy, trembling kiss and rocking up into Sunny’s steady, driving rhythm. Sunny gathers him close, stroking him through the tremors of overstimulation to the rhythm of their lazy kisses.

Lance can’t remember the last time he felt like this. So safe, precious and coddled and…and  _ loved  _ goddamit, its some kind of love in every breath between them. All he wants is to melt into it, melt into  _ him,  _ let it sweep him away and float on this feeling forever.

He opens his eyes to find Sunny gazing back at him, sees the same lost, floating, overwhelming happiness mirrored in those gentle violet eyes.

Lance presses his hands to Sunny’s shoulder, urging him to sit up, kissing away the flicker of worry in his eyes. He flips them with a twist of his hips, humming happily as the bruises twinge, lets them both slip back into the water and right back where they started, perched on his knees as Sunny’s head falls back to look up at him. Lance holds his eyes, lips curving in a teasing grin, before he reaches back to steady Sunny’s cock and sink back onto him in one rolling motion.

This time it’s  _ his  _ pace,  _ his  _ depth, Sunny’s teeth tight on his neck as he rolls up to meet him, and Lance knows he’s getting hard again as they roll together, sending little waves splashing over the rocks around the hotspring. He rises up further, drops down harder, arching his back and bracing a hand on Sunny’s knee behind him to take him deeper, his borrowed shirt dropping open as his chest flexes tight with the motions. Sunny’s starting to shake beneath him, hands clawing down Lance’s back, scratching through the wet cotton clinging to his muscles,  _ close close close  _ and Lance wants to be there with him. He reaches down to fist himself, and Sunny growls and knocks his hand away, looking up into Lance’s eyes with his lip caught between his teeth as he takes him in hand, working him in long tight strokes in time with their faltering rhythm. Lance shudders, hard, fighting to keep his eyes on Sunny’s, he doesn’t want to miss a second as his body works between them thrusting up into Sunny’s hand and dropping back on his cock.

He  _ feels  _ it as much as he sees it when Sunny hits his breaking point, feels the tremors running through his body and his muscles jumping where they’re pressed tight together. He drops down and stays there, letting Sunny buck up against him, driving himself over the edge and taking Lance down with him in a final, pounding rush.

There’s no separating to the bench and the hammock that night, by an unspoken agreement too obvious to need discussing. Lance finds a few more blankets from Blue’s emergency stash and they pull the loosest cushioning off the benches, and curl up together in a messy nest in the center of what used to be the battered shuttle’s cargo bay. It’s maybe not as comfortable as the spring-centered, padded benches, but it’s definitely the warmest Lance has been in this little planet’s frigid nights.

Sunny spoons up close behind him, tracing his fingers idly, tenderly, over the scattering of hickies across the base of Lance’s neck. Lance is curled up in a tight little ball against his chest, fiddling idly with his repaired chronograph.

“Still nothing from your friends?” Sunny murmurs, hooking his chin over his shoulder and stroking lazily down his side.

“They’ll find us,” Lance says, flipping off the bright little screen and rolling over to nuzzle into his lover’s chest. “They know where I was headed, just give them time.”

Sunny shuffles nervously, and Lance glares up at him, draping his arms over his shoulders. “I sense you are about to kill the mood. Stopit.”

Sunny laughs softly, and leans up to kiss Lance’s nose. “Just can’t help my worrying, sweetheart. Can’t say I relish the thought of anyone else getting hurt for my sake. You’re sure your friends’ ship is big enough to survive the dust cloud?”’

“Y’know, I’m really  _ not  _ too worried.”

 

“Yeah, okay, that  _ might  _ be big enough,” Sunny yells over the roar of thrusters, as they stand on the roof of his shuttle and watch the Castle of Five Lions descend through the dust clouds and the little penises flee in all directions trailing high pitched squeals of terror. 

It should, Lance feels, be a majestic, awe inspiring sight, but the castle is  _ so  _ huge and the dusty planetoid is  _ so  _ bare and tiny, it just ends up looking...kind of dumb and comical, like a big toy spaceship dropped in a dirty sandbox. Sunny looks suitably impressed though, especially once three lions peel out of the castle’s hatches, dragging blue contrails through the dust clouds. The sight gives Lance a moment of anxiety, before he realizes that the intakes on their sides are covered with some kind of jury rigged filtration system that has  _ Hunk  _ written all over it. 

He was  _ gonna  _ be so cool. It’s only been a few weeks, after all, and he had any number of witty one-liners all planned out, maybe something about Wilson and a reference to Fed-Ex packages (low hanging fruit, but just oblique enough to be funny)...but as soon as the lions drop out of the dust cloud to hover over them, familiar shadows spilling across the barren ground, Lance is bouncing up and down whooping like an idiot and waving his arms over his head, eyes full of tears that are only  _ mostly  _ caused by the swirling, stinging dust. The battered locator on his wrist crackles to life, the screen displaying a familiar, and incredibly welcome frequency: the Black Lion. 

“Well  _ hello  _ there,” Shiro drawls, over the crackling, popping connection. “Congratulations on your new record for the Universe’s longest ‘just a quick scanning run.’” Behind the lions, the castle itself drops a little lower, sensor beams sweeping over the crater his landing left behind.

“Hey, give him credit,” Pidge cuts in, and the sound of all their voices has Lance’s heart doing happy relieved backflips. “We all told him that ‘distress signal’ was just background radiation.”

“True enough,” Shiro says, and even through the grainy connection, Lance can hear his voice soften as he says “All okay down there?

“Dusty, bored, and sick of protein bars,” Lance replies, swiping hurridly at his eyes as the Lions settle onto the ground. He glances over at Sunny, who’s staring at the hulking starships with his mouth open, oblivious to the dust.

“Those...those are the Voltron lions.”

“Uh...yeah?” Lance blinks “Wait. Shit. Did I not...I’m a Paladin of Voltron, did I tell you that? I swear I told you that. I crashed here in one of the Lions.”

“ _ I thought you were delirious.” _

_ “ _ I mean I probably  _ was... _ but. Uh. Yeah. Hi. Red Paladin, that’s me. And that’s Pidge and Hunk up there, they’re Green and Yellow, I assume Allura’s flying the castle so Blue’s up there - oh yeah, I used to fly Blue when we first started out but then when the Coaliton formed I switched with--”

_ “Lance, what the  _ Hell  _ did you do to my lion?” _

“...Keith.” Lance finishes, glancing at his communicator, which is blinking with a second channel originating from the Black lion. “Shit.” He flicks his open channel back on. “ _ What do you mean  _ your  _ Lion?”  _

_ “ _ Yeah, they’re always like this,” Pidge says. Her voice is doubled for a second as she climbs out of her crouching Lion, before her communicator detects the proximity and cuts out. “I’m sorry. Hi. Call me Pidge.” She crouches down next to the door of the battered shuttle and taps on the seal. “Nice weatherproofing. Is that aerogel?”

The other Lions are landing, and Lance realizes, a little too late in his bickering with Keith, that Sunny is almost shrinking beside him. Realizes that maybe a quiet, soft-spoken man who chose a career as an interstellar trucker isn’t well equipped to deal with a sudden invasion by six hyperactive lion-flying weirdos. And for the first time in...probably forever, he forgets about getting the last word in with Keith, in favor of reaching back to find Sunny’s hand and lace their fingers tight together. 

“C’mon,” he says softly, moving to slither off the nose of the shuttle. “Let me introduce you to Shiro.”

Shiro’s first reaction when he sees Lance is to wince, which probably isn’t a  _ great  _ sign for his overall appearance (he’s not looking forward to his first encounter with a mirror since his crash), and then a quick, too-tight one armed hug that doubles as a check for injuries. Keith follows him out of the lion, decked out in his annoyingly cool Marmora jumpsuit, complete with the mask up to filter out the dust.

“My name’s -- wait.” Shiro cuts himself off mid-introduction, and then squints. He flips his visor up and stares hard at Sunny. Sunny sighs. 

“Commander Shirogane, right? I remember you. I thought I heard something about you surviving Kerberos after all.”

“C-captain Kang?” Shiro stutters. Lance glances over at Hunk and Pidge, and is relieved to see they look as confused as he does. He’d figured Shiro and Sunny might’ve overlapped at the Garrison, but Shiro’s gone white as a sheet at the sight of him.

“Not so much the Captain part, anymore,” Sunny says with a sigh, scraping his hair out of his eyes. “But yeah, that’s me.” He looks up, and realizes Shiro isn’t looking at him anymore. He’s looking over his shoulder, wide eyed, at Keith.

Keith’s still standing in Black’s mouth, frozen absolutely solid. Slowly,  _ very  _ slowly, he pokes a button on his neck, and his black and purple Blade mask folds itself away. 

Lance is, by pure chance, at the perfect angle to watch the impressive variety of expressions that collide on Sunny’s face in the half a second after Keith’s mask comes off. He looks between them, two mirrored sets of arched eyebrows and violet eyes and sharp cheekbones and  _ I’d know that mullet anywhere  _ and oh  _ no… _

_ “ _ K-Keith?”

“ _ Dad?” _

About a million thoughts whip through Lance’s head in the second of clangingly awkward silence that follows. Only one of them makes it to his vocal cords. Unfortunately, it’s “ _ You knocked up a Galra?” _

Pidge’s eyes flick from Keith, to Sunny, to his fingers still entwined with Lance’s, and then she flips her visor back down and explodes in poorly muffled cackles of laughter, collapsed against her Lion’s foreleg. Hunk is still squinting at the three of them, working through the same mental arithmetic but not quite to the inevitable solution, and Shiro is staring off into space with the distant look he gets on his face when he’s re-examining every decision he’s made in his life and trying to work out how they lead him  here. 

“C’mon.” Lance squeezes Sunny’s fingers and tugs gently. When that’s not enough to break his paralysis, Lance steps in close and winds an arm around his waist. “Come  _ on,  _ Sunny.” He gives him a tight, one armed hug, nuzzling his nose into Sunny’s shoulder for a second before he steps back, tugging him towards the Castle’s descending staircase. “We’ve clearly got a lot to talk about.”


End file.
